


You Never Stop Counting

by BennyBatch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Frigga Feels (Marvel), Grief/Mourning, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki Bingo, M/M, Tony Stark Bingo 2020, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BennyBatch/pseuds/BennyBatch
Summary: Tony didn’t ask about Loki’s mother; he knew better than that.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 77





	You Never Stop Counting

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a fill for two bingos
> 
> Loki Bingo  
> Square Filled: K1 - showing you care without words
> 
> Tony Stark Bingo  
> Title: You Never Stop Counting  
> Collaborator: BennyBatch (tinydragontony)  
> Card no.: 4005  
> Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434410  
> Square Filled: R1 - Damsels (and others) in distress  
> Ship: Frostiron  
> Rating: G  
> Major Tags: Frigga feels, mourning  
> Summary: Tony didn’t ask about Loki’s mother; he knew better than that.  
> Word count: 871

Tony didn’t ask about Loki’s mother; he knew better than that. 

He saw the dark, somber look that crossed his face whenever he thought of her. He’s sure the same look has crossed his own face.

But, even though he never asked, he never failed to listen when Loki offered up bits and pieces of his memory of her, like petals. Those moments were always soft and quiet. Intimate. And, one by one, Tony gathered up these memories until Frigga bloomed in his mind. 

Based on Loki’s stories, he learned she was a stately woman, exuding grace and immeasurable radiance, unafraid to stand up to her husband, Odin, when she felt he had been either too harsh or didn’t give a situation enough thought. In that way, she was a skillful diplomat. In others, she was a fierce warrior able to hold her own against and defeat those wishing to cause her family harm. Tony learned she died doing exactly that. He also learned that she was a witch and a seer, a trickster indulging in Loki’s games with her own wicked smile and sense of humor. Finally, he learned that she was, above all, a mother who doted on her sons, kind and loving.

Tony’s favorite of Loki’s stories exemplified this.

It starred Loki, young and afraid, startled from sleep by a thunderous crack followed by the flash of lightning as a storm raged outside. He cried for his mother.

She rushed to him, a hastily donned robe billowing behind her.

Loki recalled being scooped up and drawn against her bosom as she dipped her head to kiss the crown of his raven head, hushing him with gentle assurances all the while. Each clap of thunder caused Loki to whimper, but Frigga simply held him closer.

The Trickster would pause to smirk at Tony then, admitting with some joy that Thor’s own nightmares were likely the cause of that particular storm.

There was something else hidden beneath that smirk, something that caused Tony’s heart to swell.

“But she came for me,” it seemed to say.

And as the story’s storm died down, Loki’s voice rose, crooning the sweet melody of the lullaby his mother had used to soothe him that night and others like it. 

Tony was swept up by it.

He leaned forward, chin resting in his palm, silent tears tracking their way down his cheeks every time Loki’s voice wobbled, an empathetic tightness finding its way into his own throat.

It was the same tightness he felt looking at Loki now.

Tony had been searching for him that morning, wanting to share breakfast as they have for so many months now, and had even asked Jarvis to announce his arrival, but Tony still found the man kneeling at the foot of an altar of some sort, head bowed and hands neatly folded in his lap. He didn’t look up when Tony stopped behind him. 

Peering over Loki’s shoulder, he spied a single, thin strip of cloth resting on the altar surrounded by flickering candles. It shimmered as it caught the light, golden in hue where it wasn’t cornflower blue, but the edges were ugly and frayed; muted splotches peppered the fabric.

It was the only piece of Frigga Loki had managed to snag before his banishment.

Tony knew neither Odin nor Thor allowed Loki any shred of decency when it came to exacting Loki’s punishment, and allowing Loki time to gather his things, let alone anything to remind him of his mother, was apparently a step too far. So, that strip was all he had. 

That alone made his heart and fists clench.

“Your thoughts are loud, Anthony,” Loki murmured, though his voice swelled in the silence of the space. Tony startled at its suddenness, then huffed wetly in response.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt you, Reindeer Games.”

Loki shook his head and unclasped his hands, smoothing them over his thighs as he turned his head to gaze at Tony with red-rimmed green eyes while Tony moved to kneel down beside him. When he settled, Loki leaned into his side, and Tony wrapped his arm around the lithe man. They sat in silence for a while, neither one of them willing to break the trance until Tony, voice soft, asked, “Want to talk about it?”

He felt Loki stiffen at his question, but soon enough Loki just sighed and pressed his cheek against his shoulder. Tony didn’t say anything when the spot began to wetten.

Just when he thought he may not receive an answer, he heard, “Today marks three years.”

Oh.

Tony’s arm tightened.

He remembered the first second, the first minute, day, week, month, year—two, five, ten, twenty, thirty. You never really stop counting.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

He’s sorry Loki’s hurting.

He’s sorry she won’t get to see how Loki’s changed. 

He’s sorry he never had the chance to ask her blessing or to beg for embarrassing stories of Loki’s childhood he’s sure she’d be more than willing to provide.

He’s sorry he never had the chance to meet her. 

Loki huffed and turned to curl into his chest, seeming to hear all Tony wanted to convey with two simple words. “Me, too,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Today actually marks four years since my mother's passing. I've written about it before, in my own way, but I wanted to write the experience through the eyes of someone else who's experienced the same loss.
> 
> Thank you to all for taking the time to read this 💜


End file.
